Brett Halliday - Heads You Lose

“Eddie Seeney. He works for your outfit, doesn’t he?”

She worked her lips together to moisten them. Her eyes were blank and bewildered. “I don’t know… what you mean.”

Shayne’s hand was still on her shoulder. She caught it and pulled it gently around her neck and snuggled against it.

“I guess we were both fools,” she murmured. “It simply wouldn’t work, would it? I’ve spent too much time pouring over law books to know how to be alluring. And you… you’ve lived on the edge of suspicion too long. You can’t let go, no matter how hard you try.” She pressed his hand down hard against her body and he felt the throbbing of her hot flesh beneath his palm.

Her other arm curved up around his neck. She pulled his face down to hers and widened her moist lips to receive his kiss. They stayed like that for a long time, then she sighed and her lips slid away from his. She twisted her body to press her face against his chest. “So, it’s like this,” she murmured. “I’ve been missing a lot, haven’t I?”

Shayne winced with pain as she pressed against him. He asked, “How old are you?”

“Thirty-two, Michael. Thirty-two empty years behind me. Don’t ever let me go. I’ve dreamt of this… through lonely nights.”

Shayne cautiously pressed her body with his left arm, and pain shot through the area of the broken ribs on his right side.

She looked up at him and whispered, “You haven’t said no, have you, Michael? You’re not going to say no.”

“You’re offering some good arguments,” he confessed. His face was bleak in the yellow light of the ship’s lanterns.

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m glad,” she said simply, and snuggled comfortably in his arms.

The silence was broken by a thumping on the front door. An insistent sound, made by the heavy iron knocker.

Edna stiffened and sat up. Her hazel eyes grew black with the dilated pupils filling the iris. “What… who is it?”

Shayne grimaced. “Maybe it’s Barnacle Bill.” The trenches in his cheeks deepened and his eyes were suddenly wary.

She said, “I don’t know… who it could be.”

“Don’t you?”

She winced and shrank from him at the rough savagery in his voice. “Michael! You don’t think I…”

“There’s one way to find out.” He started to get up.

She clung to him in panic. “Don’t… don’t answer it! Whoever it is will go away. Don’t go to the door, darling. Everything will be spoiled.”

He took her clutching hands from his arm, saying, “You can hide under the bed. I’m going to see who’s at that door.”

As he moved toward it his hand slid into his pocket and drew out the. 38. He cocked the weapon and held it with no effort at concealment as he opened the door.

A dark-featured young man stood on the threshold. His jaw gaped open when he saw the gun in Shayne’s hand and he swayed backward, throwing one hand out to grasp the door frame for support. The reek of liquor came from him and he appeared to be very drunk.

Shayne heard a choked cry from Edna Taylor. He half-turned and saw her rushing toward him.

Shayne said to the man, “Well, what do you want? Who are you?”

The man leered vacantly and said, “I’m comin’ in.” His voice was thick, but he straightened himself and started forward.

Shayne lowered his gun and took a step back.

Edna cried, “No!” She snatched the pistol from Shayne’s lax grasp. Before he could stop her she swung it up and fired pointblank at the intruder.

He collapsed on the threshold and lay still.

Shayne threw Edna back angrily, closing his big hand over hers and wresting the weapon from her. “You fool!” he grated. “Why did you do that?”

She swayed back against a chair and covered her face. “He was coming in, Michael. He was coming right at you.”

Shayne knelt beside the man and turned him over. He tore his coat and shirt open, nodded somberly at the sight of blood oozing from a small hole in his chest. “You shot him right through the heart. You’ve played hell now.”

“Who is it?” she whimpered. “Do you know him? I didn’t know what I was doing, Michael. Everything went blank when I saw him coming in. Is he… dead?”

“Plenty.” Shayne stood up, frowning down at the lifeless body. “I think his name is Eddie Seeney. You wouldn’t know about that, I suppose?”

“Why should I? I don’t understand.”

Shayne said, “Neither do I… yet.” He turned away from the open door. “Where’s your telephone?”

“Why? What are you going to do?” She straightened up and stared at him.

“Call the police. Where’s your phone?”

“Please… wait,” she cried. “Do you have to?”

“It’s customary when there’s been a murder.”

“Murder?” She sank into the chair which she had backed against, her face going white. “It isn’t murder. He was forcing his way into my house. I fired in self-defense. You know I did.”

Shayne growled. “Maybe. We’ll find out. Maybe you arranged to have him come here.”

She sobbed, “Michael… you’re so strange… and cold. Can’t you get him away from here? Don’t you see what will happen if you call the police? Everything will be ruined. Don’t you love me… a little bit?”

“Love you?” He laughed shortly. “Just because you made me want you a little while ago?”

“Oh God! And I thought…”

“Where’s your telephone?”

She came to him again and pressed her body wantonly against him, crying, “I can make you want me again. You’ll hate yourself if you call the police. It’ll turn this into something ugly…”

“… And make very bad publicity,” Shayne interrupted with harsh irony. He put her away from him, saying, “I’m going to call the police. You can do as you please, but if you’re smart you’ll get into some clothes fast.” He turned away, searching the room for the telephone.

There was no instrument visible. He went into a bedroom and turned on the light. A French phone stood on a table beside the bed.

He dialed Will Gentry’s number. Edna came back into the room as he waited for an answer. He kept his back toward her, and when Gentry answered, said:

“Mike Shayne talking. I want to report a homicide.”

Will Gentry turned away from the body and the small group of men clustered in the doorway of Edna Taylor’s living room. He said, “You can take him away now.” He moved heavily to a small table and dumped out a handful of trifles taken from the dead man’s pockets. He folded his arms and teetered back and forth on widespread feet, addressed Shayne who sat slouched in a chair.

“Well… let’s have it, Mike.”

“Is his name Edward Seeney?”

“That’s right. The fellow you phoned me about. What makes?”

Shayne glanced behind him and saw the front door closing behind Gentry’s men and their limp burden. He said, “I haven’t introduced you to our hostess. Chief Gentry, Miss Taylor.” In a gently mocking tone, he went on, “Miss Taylor is a she-lawyer, Will. Vice-president of the Motorist Protective Association.”

Gentry looked with new interest at the slender woman sitting stiffly erect on the couch. She had changed to the gray tweed suit, and appeared composed with her hands folded in her lap. She nodded and said, “How do you do, Chief Gentry.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Taylor,” Gentry rumbled, and after a searching scrutiny he turned his attention to Shayne. “This time you’re going to put your cards on the table, Mike. Four men have died while you horsed around and acted mysterious.”

Shayne said, “Sit down, Will. I’m ready to do a lot of talking. How about pouring us a drink, Edna?”